Feet and Inches
by VeryLongLadder6
Summary: Beckett Gets A Haircut.


**A/N: My first Castle fic. Please let me know what you think!**

**Disclaimer: It isn't mine.**

.

It starts because he doesn't notice her hair. She's had it cut. Trimmed. But not by much. An inch from the back was all it took. An inch more and he would have noticed. A foot less, and he wouldn't have been. They would all be measured this day. Inches and feet. Feet and inches.

.

She doesn't speak to him all morning. No more than is absolutely necessary; directions and orders, pleases and thank yous. None of the small talk which is so large a part of them. There's a body, and it's Lanie who mentions the missing inch. When she does, he looks at Kate with the face that says _'Oh, shit.'_ She pretends not to notice. He pretends he noticed hours ago.

.

It's the brother, of course it is. There's precisely nothing Beckett-flavoured about this; they shouldn't be here. There's a gunshot wound and a missing wallet, means and motive. Only now they're fighting about it. She's yelling about procedure and evidence. He's shouting something about how if it had been any other day she'd be agreeing with him. She's in a bad mood. Because he didn't notice her hair.

It takes her about 3 seconds to reach for his ear. Drags him into the break room.  
'What's wrong with you?' she asks.  
'What's wrong with you?' he explains.

And they get nowhere.

.

Only somehow they do. The brother is a teacher. So they end up in a school yard. There are kids running and tripping and yelling. When she makes a joke about how well he fits in he's so relieved he laughs politely. She looks at him like there's a foot growing on his forehead.

It isn't the brother. Maybe there's a drug angle. Perhaps the vic was selling guns, or women. The CIA theory makes an appearance at one point. She doesn't even roll her eyes.

Turns out the victim was poisoned before she was shot. That there wasn't a wallet at all.  
'I couldn't write this,' he says.  
'Agatha Christie could.' She even has the nerve to sound bored.

.

It's the husband. It must be. There may not be a damning receipt or revealing email, but there's a boyfriend. Some schmuck from the office the victim couldn't possibly have been in love with. Beckett's quick to remind him that doesn't matter.

So the angle is sex; hot kinky steamy naughty sex.

Neither of them makes a joke.

.

When they talk to the husband Castle has to watch Kate fall half in love. She's wearing one of _those_ shirts and trousers that make his a little tighter. She's twirling the hair she has left at this guy, and before he can think about what he's doing Castle reminds the man that they're here because they think he murdered his wife.

When they leave she's livid.  
'What the hell were you thinking?'  
'I was thinking about our case,' he says.  
'"My" case, Castle, not "ours".'

She spends a minute preparing what she'll say to his comeback.

He throws her for a loop.

Doesn't say a word.

.

They talk to the boyfriend next. This time it's awkward. She tries to apologize in the car. Makes a mess of it. Of _course_ she didn't mean what she said. Of _course_ he's a valuable member of the team. By the time they're talking to the suspect they can barely look at each other.

Turns out the husband knew about the boyfriend.

They end up yelling again.

.

He goes home. Sits at his laptop for over an hour, sickened by the blinking cursor on the blank page.

Then he cooks.

When he runs out of food, he drinks instead.

.

She goes to see the husband alone. This time when he stares at her cleavage she feels sick. She wonders if she was only excited before by Castle's anger. Or if it was just his presence. She doesn't know what she feels then. Only it isn't nausea.

She waits until the husband turns around, then she buttons up her shirt.

.

It's the boyfriend. Definitely the boyfriend. Seems there was blackmail and extortion amidst the sex and the lies. He's a doctor; they end up at a hospital. Castle's never been great with hospitals. When Beckett asks him about it he spins some yarn about Frankenstein's Monster and mutant alien zombies. Truth is he's never liked the smell. They're huddled behind an ambulance, but there are hand signals and guns and Castle gets confused somewhere. Ends up stood like an idiot in plain sight of the perp.

Everyone starts running. At least, everyone _else_ starts running. And Castle can't quite remember why or how he ends up with a gun pressed to the side of his head, but when he does he knows it's OK, so long as there's Kate. Looking out for him. He's being dragged backwards, wonders how bad it would be if he fell on his ass. And she's right there. Using the angry voice, inching closer.

He's yanked into the building. There are people yelling and diving for the floor, guns pointing at them and through it all that god awful smell. Castle doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He isn't worried until he sees the look on Kate's face. Then he's completely fucking terrified.

'She was everything to me,' the boyfriend is shouting. 'Do you know what it's like to lose the one you love?'

She's looking at him funny, and if she's sending him a message he doesn't understand it. She lowers her gun. Castle wants to tell her to turn around, to run away, to crouch or hide or _something_. She isn't even wearing a vest.

The perp is laughing. The mirthless laugh of the man who has nothing to lose. Castle can already see himself typing it before he realises it's wildly inappropriate. And then something strange happens. The boyfriend points his gun at Beckett. Castle can't remember much after that. Only that there's a bitter taste in his mouth. And he moves just a little. And somehow they end up on the floor.

And then someone fires. For as long as she lives she'll never know who. But there's blood on his face and his shirt and his jacket, and _oh god _she actually runs to him. Yanks him standing and runs her hands over his back, under his jacket, through his hair. His hands come to rest on her waist, and before she knows it he's leaning on her like she's the only thing keeping him standing.

'You're ok,' she says, repeating it like a mantra.  
'You're ok?' he asks. She nods.  
'I'm ok.'  
'We're ok.'

And they laugh.

.

But not for long.

When she goes home that night she can't sleep. Can't figure out why. She does push ups and pull ups and sit ups and refuses to lie down. She drinks and reads and tries not to pace. Every time she shuts her eyes she sees Castle beaten, or dying, or dead. She wonders why she's never thought about this before. Why now she can't stop.

She's asleep when the phone rings. She realises when she heaves herself from the rumpled couch that she's probably in love with Richard Castle. Then she feels nauseous.

It's him on the phone.

She doesn't pick up.

.

When a body drops the next morning she doesn't call him. The others know better than to ask her why. Know better than to call him themselves. They work without him, screening his calls and dodging his visits. No mean feat. Things move more slowly. There is less creativity, less laughter. It's not like there was too much of that before.

It begins to feel as though if she tries really hard, for a really long time, she might begin to forget he was ever here. She knows the bags beneath her eyes tell a different story.

She thought she had a dangerous job, that she lived on the edge. Late nights and flashing lights, guns and bullets, and the worst of life's offerings. Then he came along and she realized no doctor could heal the wounds caused by kind words and good intentions. Yet the truth of it is that he makes her feel safe. And now he's gone.

.

It takes a week.

She goes home one evening and finds Castle stood outside her door. She'd left the doorman specific instructions not to let him up, strikes his name from her Christmas card list.

He doesn't say a word. Just waits for her to open the door. When she does, he follows her inside; sits on the couch while she puts down her bag, takes off her shoes. She pours two glasses of wine, sets one before him. They don't talk.

When they finish the bottle he stands, puts on his jacket, heads for the door.

'Castle,' she says. He stops, but doesn't turn. 'I thought I could protect you.'  
'You were wrong.'

He turns to look at her. When he speaks it's only a whisper.  
'Don't cut me out,' he says, 'I need this.'  
'I need you,' she pauses, 'to be OK.'

It's alright. He understands.

He walks towards her. Takes her hand. Leans in. Kisses her like it's the first time.

'I will be,' he says.

.

And they move forward together, they move closer. In inches and feet. Feet and inches.


End file.
